Surprise
by Silver Medals
Summary: "The only thing that matters now, though, is that my father left me a surprise for the snow season holiday." A young Glimmer gets a gift from someone she didn't expect one from.


_"The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches." - e.e. cummings_

* * *

"Glim!" I hear my mother shout. "It's snowing!"

_Snow is a thing of wonders._ I love the way snow lands carefully on windowsills and flies in wisps through the air.

"It's snowing? Really?" comes my reply. I dance towards the door at which my mother stands. I put my hand in the air and a few flakes land on my fingers. They melt and roll over my hand and drip onto the white ground. It does fly in wisps through the air and it does land carefully and slowly.

"It barely ever snowed here when I was a girl," my mother remarks. "It was warm during the winters. When the ones from District Eleven would win, not that they'd win often, they'd come up on their victory tours and they'd want to see the same snow that fell in the arenas. But arena snow only _looks_ pretty. And there was never snow. Never."

_ No snow? _I question. _That's a pure horror._

"Mama, was there really no snow? Not at all?" I ask in wonder. "Snow is pretty and fluffy. There had to be snow!" My mother strokes my hair, shaking her head. She twists a golden strand around her finger and sighs.

"No snow at all, Glimmer. Only warm, wet rains back when I was a girl." She pauses for a moment, staring out the snow-caked window. "Honey, let's open your gifts now. I'm sure the Gamemakers brought you lots!" I always knew the Gamemaker trope was a lie, but I played along like a foolish little girl.

I run towards the closet, opening the door. Laying on the floor are three parcels, wrapped in red with shimmering silver bows. I snatch the smallest package and tear the paper off, tossing the red scraps to the side. "Mommy, mommy! I got candy!" I take off the clear cover and grab a small piece of chocolate. I rip it apart and eat it, savoring the sweet caramel and the rich, dark chocolate. "I love the snow season," I say wistfully.

In a moment I'm off again, ripping the paper off the second gift. I tear open a cardboard box and look at the objects inside. "Mama, the Gamemakers got me a pretty ring! And it's got this spike when you twist this..." My mother's eyes open wide.

"Honey, don't do that! That spike will kill you!" I gasp. "Yes, Glimmer, that spike is poisonous. The pretty blue stone is shiny and you want to play with it, but the little spike will kill you."

I bite my lip and twist the gem back into place. "I don't wanna die, Mama." I drop the shining ring onto the floor and scramble to the next package. It's the largest one, one that clanks like metal when I shake it. I place it in front of me and tear the paper off slowly. I torture myself with the slow speed. I decide I can't take it any more and so I rip the wrapping paper off and toss it on the ground.

In the box lay a golden sheath of arrows. I lift the quiver and stare at it. I pull out an arrow and examine it, eyes wide. I do the same with the golden bow, running my finger down the string and awing at it. I nock an arrow and draw the string back, using all nine years of my strength. I don't dare release it, my small fist growing sweaty with anticipation. I relax the string but never notice the curved, cruel knife in the bottom of the box.

"Mommy, does this mean the Gamemakers want me to train and then win the Games? I really like my presents!" I wrap my arms around my mother, smiling the whole time.

"Yes, Glimmer, you're starting tomorrow. When you're seventeen, maybe eighteen, you'll volunteer, and honey, you're sure to win!" I beam, my smile spanning ear to ear.

Somehow I knew it wasn't the Gamemakers, creeping through my house and giving me gifts. My father left a package on the door before the factory explosion and when he went to the big gem factory in the sky.

My mother brings in one small box; probably containing a ragdoll or a hair ribbon, but I don't focus on it. I look at the carefully handpainted wrapping paper, now torn and scattered across the floor. My father was a painter for luxury gem items in the factory; his designs were considered amazing. This could only be his painting. I take the package from my mother and take it out of the exquisite paper, all the while thinking about my father's bright, green eyes, his slender face, and what it looks like now, in pieces, shards of glass embedded in his skull.

The only thing that matters now, though, is that my father left me a surprise for the snow season holiday. And the Gamemakers have nothing to do with it.


End file.
